“Me as well,” Jacobs said, speaking finally. As if he couldn’t have defended Tristan earlier.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Tristan said, doing his best to not grit his teeth. “I need to speak with a friend, but before I go, Miss Eleanor, please find a place on your dance card for me as well.” Tristan gave a perfectly placid smile to everyone, but he could see ’ol Fulker sulking.
*
Eleanor was notstupid. The two men clearly had an old rivalry, and Mr. Jacobs was there to show obeisance to her father. Manners bid her to accept a dance with Mr. Fulk, who seemed perfectly polite, but could wilt a bouquet of flowers at twelve paces. She knew she was blinking rapidly in the onslaught of aroma, and she hoped it was not being interpreted as coquettish flirting. In fact, her eyes might begin watering at any moment.
She allowed her dance card to be filled by Mr. Fulk, Mr. Jacobs, and Tristan respectively. No, she really must address him as Mr. Bridewell even in her mind. Oh, but he was so handsome tonight. His formal dress was almost identical to thatof every man there, but he sported a blue lapel pin that was a perfect match to his sparkling eyes, and it was most fetching.
Not that she enjoyed looking at his lapel, as it accented his broad shoulders, his coat stretching to accommodate them. Or how his flaxen hair caught the gas lamp flame in such a way that it seemed like liquid gold. He gave another exquisite bow and left their company, followed by a bow from Mr. Jacobs, and left only themselves and Mr. Fulk.
Mr. Fulk, stout in his brocade waistcoat and formal black evening kit, suddenly seemed put out that he had no one to mock in conversation. “Er...”
“Thank you, Mr. Fulk, for your attentiveness. Eleanor will be at the ready for you when the next set begins.” Mrs. Piper, accustomed to an entire life before Eleanor had been born, one that Eleanor was not privy to, shooed the gentleman away. Mr. Fulk slunk off, but as he did so, Ophelia and Justine were making their way through the crowd towards her. “Not too long with those girls. But they are quite a breath of fresh after that gentleman.”
Eleanor smiled at her mother. Having a strong sense of smell was not an asset at the docks, and apparently, it wasn’t in a ballroom either. She smoothed her skirts once again, her hands raw inside her gloves from tying new knots in preparation for the next salon. She’d practiced late into the night, not needing nor wanting illumination. She wanted to be able to tie the knots in the dark, and behind her back. She’d even lain upside down, hanging off her bed, tying them. She had to be the expert, and she wouldn’t let the Ladies’ Alpine Society down.
“There you are,” Ophelia said. She should have been breathless, any other corseted girl would be after that march through such a throng. But then, Ophelia seemed to be made of sterner stuff than anyone Eleanor had ever known. Maybe even Captain Smythe.
“We arrived not long ago,” Eleanor said.
Ophelia nodded tersely, as if she were a military commander and this was a battlefield.
“Mr. Piper, Mrs. Piper.” Justine curtsied and smiled. She elbowed Ophelia.
“Miss Bridewell, Miss Brewer,” her father said.
Apparently Ophelia was not keen on observing social niceties? Or couldn’t be bothered with them at the moment, at any rate. Ophelia performed an obligatory nod to them and turned back to Eleanor.
“I hadn’t believed it, but I think we have a fourth member of the Ladies’ Alpine Society.” Ophelia looked as if she might hyperventilate.
“I thought your brothers were also members?” Eleanor asked. “They were at the salon.”
Ophelia gave a look that was not complimentary for either of them. “They aren’tladies. So they cannot be members of theLadies’Alpine Society.”
Eleanor looked to Justine, who lifted a pretty, bare shoulder as a shrug.
“Her name is Mrs. Cabot. She’s an American.” Ophelia twisted this way and that, trying to see through the crowd of people. “I think she’s an excellent candidate.”
“Why?” Eleanor couldn’t help but ask, even though she had absolutely no right to do so. It wasn’t her club, and she wouldn’t be climbing any mountains. “Is it because she’s an American?”
“Not just an American,” Justine whispered. “She’s fromMinnesota.”
Eleanor shook her head. “I haven’t the faintest clue where that is.”
“Neither do I,” Justine said.
“That’s the point!” snapped Ophelia. “She’s perfect. And look at her shoulders. That is a woman who has done some work!”
Eleanor frowned, scanning the crowd for someone who might look like she was from Minnesota. She still wasn’t sure who they were speaking of.
Her mother leaned over. “Please do not make comments on the bodies of other women. It isn’t seemly.”
“Yes, Mama,” Eleanor said, knowing she was right. It was a sore spot for her mother, she knew.
The set finished, and all three young ladies looked up. There was the shuffle of people and instruments in the suddenly music-less hall.
“I shall have to find Blakely,” Justine said, her mouth finishing into a pursed moue that would have seemed an unbecoming pout on any other person, but on her looked adorable enough to cuddle.
